Download e-book for kindle: A Little Trouble with the Facts: A Novel by Nina Siegal

Valerie Vane used to be an up-and-coming way of life reporter at a admired ny urban day-by-day. Then she stumbled, relatively publicly, and misplaced it all—her column, her fiancé, her entry in the back of the city's velvet ropes. Now she's at the obituary table writing dying notices, and it sounds like a lifeless finish.

However, whilst she writes a couple of lately deceased once-famous graffiti artist, the telephone calls commence. A mysterious voice at the different finish of the road tells her the artist's dying used to be a murder—and if she have been a true reporter, she'd examine.

An image is worthy 1000 phrases . . . however the picture artwork historian Vicky Bliss has simply acquired within the mail offers upward push to 1000 questions as a substitute. firstly look it sounds as if to be the recognized portrait of Frau Schliemann decorated within the gold of Troy. yet nearer learn unearths the image to be contemporary—which is extraordinary for the reason that Vicky understands the Trojan gold vanished someday round the finish of worldwide battle .

Biographer and beginner sleuth Cece Caruso freely admits that she spent her adolescence idolizing lady detective Nancy Drew, a fable that absolutely encouraged her grown-up task writing biographies of lifeless secret writers. yet as Cece will notice using down the road in her Jackie O. sun shades and a borrowed baby-blue Cadillac, a few fantasies die tougher than others.

While an area waitress and her younger daughter are murdered, the manager suspect's legal professional asks Kali, who's suffering to maintain her perform afloat, to assist within the security, and he or she discovers the darkish secrets and techniques that surrounded the sufferer.

In Amina Gautier’s Brooklyn, a few little ones make it and a few youngsters don’t, yet no longer in basic methods or for stereotypical purposes. Gautier’s tales discover the lives of younger African americans who may all be labeled as “at-risk,” but who come upon various possibilities and risks of their specific neighborhoods and faculties and who see existence during the lens of other relations reports.

The opening credits rolled and the jazz blared. Burt Lancaster, Tony Curtis, screenplay by Clifford Odets and Ernest Lehman. I went back to the kitchen and poured myself a third Vanitini as the soundtrack swelled. I drank that one standing up. Pouring myself another, I moved to the couch and kicked off my shoes. A city skyline full of bright lights. The camera comes up on the back end of a printing press as workers throw stacks of newspapers into delivery trucks. Blaring horns grow louder as Night Rewrite | 45 the truck bumps through Times Square, past the blinking canadian club sign, past the hot lights showing off showgirls, past the dime stores and all-night hot dog stands.

A form-ﬁtting shirt revealed a neat thicket of brown hair just beneath his bronzed throat. His lips were ample and pink, his teeth porcelain. And his eyes were, with the aid of contacts, pale blue verging on gray. “I’ll think it over,” I said. On the way home, I considered my mother back in Oregon, who paid ﬁve dollars weekly for the Sunday edition. She’d moved off the farm some years back, but she still had her ideals. Even if I didn’t work for the investigative team, writing for The Paper would prove I’d made something of my life.

It had to be about 110 degrees inside, as I’d forgotten to open the windows and turn on the fans. I locked all four Yale locks and kicked my way through balled-up socks and piles of laundry to get to the windows and ﬂick on the A/C. For six months, I’d submitted to the cruelty of an ordinary life: the hollow echo of the dripping faucet in a barren apartment, the alarming, persistent hum of a midsize refrigerator, the mismatched dishes piling up in the sink. I’d tasted sobriety and I didn’t like it.